


Wasteland, baby!

by rhymeswithmonth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (aziraphale doesn't remember him), Alternate Universe, Canon Universe, Character Study, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Drabble Collection, First Meetings, Garden of Eden, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pre-Canon, assorted themes, chapter 2, first chapter:, or at least angsty crowley, sorta dark!crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: The paradox of The Original Sin is that it - by nature - couldn't be evil because evil hadn't been invented yet.It's everything that comes after.(an assortment of drabbles)





	1. like a moth to you, sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Title obviously from Hozier, because his lyrics suite these ineffable creatures so.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley sees Aziraphale, first.

The angel in the garden did not fight in The War.

The angel in the garden is soft and pale and pretty. He is a pallet of breaking dawn mists, peaches and creams and pale white-golds. There are no scars on his soul, no dark spots on his wings, no blood in his heart. He is young, a fresh spring growth only just blossomed and turning his face blindly to the sun. There is a great golden sword handing from his hip granted, but it’s blade is unbaptized.

The angel paces through the dappled gold green streaming through the leaves, his bare feet swish the grass and rustle the leaves and snap the twigs because they don’t have a reason not to. They haven’t been schooled in caution or distrust.

The Serpent makes no such noise. It stalks the garden silent as a shadow, slithering between roots and reeds. It’s scales are of coal so black that all light is absorbed, a smudge of nothingness, void spot among the teeming jungle. It slides through an imprint of the angels foot in the dew-damp moss, tongue flicking. Tasting just a hint of the sweet flesh and clean sweat and nectar.

It would have remembered this angel, it thinks, if he had been around Before. No, this angel is new, forged of the aftermath of the schism and birthed on the wrong side of the subsequent wound. That haloed head contains no memories of the bitter fighting that had shaken every holy atom of heaven. Is that purity? Naivety? Two words for the same fruit.

Speaking of fruit. The angel pauses his traipsing in the shadow of a laden tree. It’s not _the_ tree of course, rather a handsome but very average trunk whose branches cradle a crop of swollen plums. Although they are physically capable of it, angels don’t need to eat, and generally don’t bother with it. This one however, in this moment is apparently taken by an urge and plucks up a treat. He looks around him as if he knows his actions are odd. Not bad, precisely, but odd nonetheless. 

The serpent drapes itself safely hidden in the bows of a neighbouring tree and watches the angel bite into the plump black skin. Juice gushes forth from the lighter pink flesh beneath, glistening on the angel’s rosy pink mouth, trickling down the point of his chin, down the vulnerable pale of his wrists. His head is tipped back eyes closed in sublime bliss, consumed by the flavour as though it is something divine.

The serpent’s scales itch.


	2. Be as you've always been (lover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael!Crowley theory wherein he is the one who created Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw a tumblr post about how Aziraphale translates to something like ‘of raphael’ and also about how Gaimen’s first draft of them being one character, then Pratchett splitting them into two which lead to me picturing Raphael!Crowley making azira out of a piece of himself.

The archangel Raphael has created many things. He was there for the big one, of course, and then after help fill the earth with God’s impeccable designs. He was trusted enough to have his own projects too, modest little touches in the grand scheme but he’s rather proud of them nonetheless. It was his suggestion - for example - to let some trees keep their leaves all year around. And he was on the committee that decided the way roses should smell. He tried to get them to make pigs smaller, the perfect size to pick up, but was outvoted on that one. Those sorts of small things.

And then of course his magnum opus; snakes. He’d been given some amount of grief for it initially, by the others. Of all things you could create, of the many glorious traits to choose from, they couldn’t wrap their heads around it. _(“It’s got…no legs at all?” Barachiel had asked, “not even little tiny ones? And you expect us to believe it’s going to be a predator?”)_ but somewhere along the way he must have done something right, for he is then granted a rare honour.

Creating another angel - that is different. The plants, the creatures, the minerals, those earthen things are glorious, yes. But an angel, a soul that is to be one of their agents. This being will be granted the Holy Consciousness, a channel to God, they will be a conduit for the Might and they will have the ability to wield its miracles. This is no small thing.

So he puts more care into it than he has in his entire existence. By this time it’s already clear that the peace will not last; there are murmurings, there are whispers. Unrest is still a new Concept, but it is fast spreading. Bitterness and resentment and distrust are blooming, toxic and contagious and spreading through the host.

So he shuts himself away and turns inward, blocking out the doubt and the fear to find within himself the last shreds of pure untainted faith in his heart that have been there since his own making. He takes that and with it he forges a being _made_ of that brightness. He want it to be a fresh start, this angel of him. A harkening to a time when love and devotion went unquestioned.

Aziraphale is beautiful. Pride is a sin but Raphael can’t help but feel it. His angel is everything that is good and sweet in the universe. Truly his best work.

By that point they’re churning out new angels like the fate of the universe depended on it (and in hindsight…) and heaven is swelling with numbers. But Raphael keeps Aziraphale to himself for as long as he can. He tries to instill values in him before the others can get their hands on him with all of their righteousness and opinion. “You must do what’s right.” He tells him, “we are agents of good. Never forget that.”

They don’t have long together, in the end. It’s soon after that the tension that’s been stretching for so long finally snaps, war breaks out, and Raphael finds himself on the losing side. The only thing that’s a surprise is that God spares them at all, stripping them of their Divinity and dispelling them down into the bowels of earth instead of smiting them then and there.

They keep Aziraphale. Not that Raphael - no. No longer does he bare that name. Not that _Crawly_ would wish his punishment to be shared onto his angel. But he misses him. He’d still had so much left to tell him.

Next time they meet Aziraphale does not know his face. They’ve erased his memories of their brief time together. He’s still so beautiful, and now he’s out of reach. Regret is another new Concept, one that Crawly thinks he’s probably going to have to get used to.


End file.
